


in a mirror i am hidden

by leinthalexandra



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Endverse, M/M, selfcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leinthalexandra/pseuds/leinthalexandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The irony of doing this in front of a mirror isn’t lost on them, but they don’t fucking care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in a mirror i am hidden

**Author's Note:**

> combining prompts from alaynestone (kissing in front of a mirror and something to do with future dean having more scars) and from professionalteapot (one or both of them wearing panties).

The irony of doing this in front of a mirror isn’t lost on them, but they don’t fucking care. Dean rubs his nose against his future self’s cheek, hand against the back of his skull and the nape of his neck, pulling him close, other hand slipping under the other Dean’s shirt. Dean traces his way across until their lips meet, easy and soft and oh so familiar, yet this is a newness and a knowing that they’ve never had before.

The other Dean pulls him in until their chests are pressed tightly together, as if he could merge them back together. Dean isn’t sure he would mind that, if he’s being entirely honest, because he is him too, they’re one and the same, and it would only be a return to wholeness and feeling full again. He bites down gently on his other self’s lower lip, drawing it slowly between his teeth until he hears the soft moan escape. The other Dean tugs his hair, lips coming back to meet Dean’s own, knowing finally what they taste like as their tongues meet and their lips come together all soft and wet.

He’s pulling the other Dean’s shirt away now, needing to feel skin under his fingertips unhampered by clothing, and his future self does the same for him. They pull away briefly, gasping a single breath into one another’s mouths before they topple onto the bed in mutual agreement. Dean lands on top of his future self, who goes lax and pliant under him, like he’s back in familiar territory. Dean stares down at him, taking in the sight of the scars across his arms and chest, eyes flickering to the handprint scar seared into his left arm. Slowly, almost haltingly, he sets his own hand over it right as the other Dean does the same to him. Their hands don’t quite fit the outline right, but it’s enough to send a small shock through them, and Dean leans down to catch his future self’s mouth again with his own.

They can’t tell which one of them each gasp and moan belongs to, or maybe it belongs to them both, since they’re one and the same, but Dean can feel his jeans tightening as they rut against one another, hands seemingly everywhere at once and he grabs the underside of the other Dean’s knees, grinding down hard and rubbing their cocks together through their jeans. He pushes up, needing to see his other self’s expressions, and god it’s the strangest fucking thing he’s ever done, but damn if he doesn’t want more.

His hand moves downward, skimming the waistline of his other self’s pants and further down still, the crease of his hip, the edges of his empty thigh holster and the other Dean groans, the sound of it sending a ripple of want and need down his own spine. Dean is consumed with the urge to hold his other self close, and he does; wraps his free arm around the other Dean’s shoulders and presses close, crushing their mouths together again.

It’s not as surprising as he might have thought when the other Dean’s hand slides under the waistband of Dean’s jeans, fingers running along the smooth satin that he finds there. The other Dean’s grin is pressed into Dean’s own lips as he traces oh so, ever so lightly up Dean’s cock, the satin rubbing against him with that aching sort of pleasure, the kind that makes him twitch in his jeans, against his other self’s fingers. He doesn’t know what switch got flipped in his brain to make this go from feeling like masturbation to sex, but he’s not gonna goddamn question it now.

And now the other Dean is pulling down his zipper, then his own, shoving their pants down to where there’s only the flimsy satin material of Dean’s panties separating their cocks, and the hands that clutch at Dean’s back are rough and calloused, nothing like the hands he’s used to and yet more familiar than anyone else he’s ever known.

Legs wrapped around hips and they rock together, finding a rhythm in their hips that fits just a little better, a little smoother, and Dean is hard enough that it almost hurts, but it doesn’t because the other Dean is tugging at his hair, pulling him down again and grabbing his ass to grind them both against each other harder, harder, needing friction and skin on skin, sweat sliding their bodies together just a little bit faster, and there’s fingers rubbing against the cleft of his ass and that’s it, that’s all he can take, one last gasp and he comes with the white fire pooled low in his belly and the feel of lips, fingers, cock, legs, everything he knows so well pressed so tight to him, and he wraps his hand around the other Dean’s cock, jerking him just the way he knows he likes it. It doesn’t take long to bring his future self off, because he knows.

It’s quiet in the aftermath, a deafening silence in the wake of what feels like a bomb’s detonation, of a grenade bursting too close by. Dean runs a trembling finger along his future self’s palm, tracing a line down his wrist, his forearm, feeling smooth skin interrupted by faint scars. He knows many of them, is unfamiliar with many more, and he wants to know the story of each and every one. Knows his future self will give them up, in hopes that maybe they’ll never find their way onto Dean’s own skin.


End file.
